


A Dog's Life

by springbok7



Series: An Assortment of Teas and Biscuits [12]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, 007 Fest Fancreations, 007 games, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Animal Abuse, Animal Shelter, Dog Fighting, Dog fighting rescues, Dogs, M/M, Reincarnation, Team M-branch, dog abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-06 04:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springbok7/pseuds/springbok7
Summary: Fighting dogs deserve a rescue and a second chance.  One never knows who might turn up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts), [Dassandre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/gifts).



> For my pack.
> 
> Beta-ed by the wonderful [Dassandre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre). All remaining errors and typos are mine. Please feel free to let me know if you spot any and/or feel there should be additional tags. I welcome constructive criticism, but neither support or feed trolls.
> 
>    
>  _I do not own these characters. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from this piece of fan-fiction._
> 
>  
> 
> Written 05 July 2018

Eyes bleary, he looks up at the wavering figure stood a few feet away.  The bars of the cage block his view as does the crud gumming up his eyes.

Mucus.

Blood.

Either -- or both -- are possibilities.

He doesn’t remember much of the last few brightstar cycles.

Pain.  Always pain.

Hunger?  Certainly, but isn’t that just another kind of pain? 

Thirst had been almost overwhelming but at least this cage has a bowl of water.

Reasonably clean too, surprisingly.

But no food.  None has been brought, and he hasn’t the strength to whinge about it, the world spinning around his ears, fading in and out before his eyes.

A pallet-nest of assorted cloth occupies the rear of the space, and he lies on it, curled as tightly as possible.  It softens the concrete. A little. It’s far more than he’s used to.

There's barely any flesh left on his bones, so any padding’s better than nothing.  His elbows and knees would have been rubbed raw if not for that pallet-nest.

His attention has wandered.  There are now two figures standing outside the cage.

One -- the first -- slender and tall.

He hadn’t noticed until the second figure gives him something for contrast.

The other also tall but broad across the shoulders.

He whines and shrinks back involuntarily.

Shoulders like that translate to harder hits.  More pain.

Not that a slight build necessarily means less pain.  He’d learnt that lesson early and well.

The blood rushing in his ears and the almost subliminal whine at the back of his throat muffle the sounds from outside the cage.

Again, he seems to lose time.  The voices are louder. More agitated.

One of the others is there as well.  He recognises the placatory tones immediately.

An attempt to calm an alpha.

Painful though it is to do so, he chuffs a laugh.

The placatory tones of the third seem only to ratchet up the volume of the voices belonging to the others -- the first and the second.

He wonders -- idly -- which of the two is the alpha.

At first glance, one would assume the larger of the two.  Stronger. Physically dominant.

But he hasn’t forgotten his birth-pack.

Hasn’t forgotten the bitch that whelped him, and the fierceness with which she defended both her young and her pack.

And she was the tiniest of the pack adults.

A mere scrap of a thing.  But scrap she could. And frequently did.

She’d taught the pack the one rule in a fight: survival.

Let the city curs keep their fancy ways and order.

The wild dogs of Scotland roamed free.  Untamed.

Going  _ where _ they pleased.   _ How _ they pleased.   _ When _ they pleased.

But one day, so long ago it seems like a dream to him, it all changed.

Traps were set.  And re-set. And set again.

The elders warned the younglings.

Over, and over, and over again.

Do not get caught.

Survive.

The one rule.

But then came a colder than normal winter and food was scarce.

The younglings took to robbing the traps, stealing the bait.  

And laugh at the mounting frustration left behind.

But the hunters were no fools, and eventually the younglings were caught.

One by one.

He’d been caught too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, my poor baby. Humans can be so nasty! <3


	2. Chapter 2

He’d heard the pack elders lamenting as his cage was slung in the back of a lorry, but there was naught they -- or he -- could do.

That journey had been long, bumpy, and dusty, and full of strange smells and stranger sights.

He’d slept best he could, more from sheer exhaustion than anything else.

He’d drunk the water they’d given him.

Eaten the food, too.

Things were hazy after that.

A place where they were taught things.  

Tasty treats if they figured out what they were supposed to do.

Nasty shocks from the collars around their necks if they didn’t.  

Or fought.  Or tried to get away.  Or peed anywhere but on the reeking dirt.  Or barked. Or did any other on the immense list of inexplicable things they were not supposed to do.

It had been hell.

Some learned faster, others slower.  But they were all terrified of the shocks that jolted through their bodies.  They did their best, and one by one they disappeared from that place.

His turn came, and he thought it would be freedom, release from a prison.

He was wrong.

It was worse.

He was taken south.  So far south he no longer recognised the trees.  The birds were the same but also different. It was warm.  All the time.

He was “trained” to attack.  Pigs, sheep, other dogs.

If he didn’t, they beat him.  Kicked him. Hit him with sticks.

And then shocked him.

He doesn’t know how long he was there.  How long he fought. Deafened by the roar of the herds of  _ them _ .  Screaming, shouting, banging the walls with fists and bottles and pipes while he fought in that hell of a packed-dirt ring.  

He bled into that dirt.  Added his and his opponent’s lifeblood to the scores gone before them.

Sometimes he lost.

He dreaded those nights.  Sticks and fists and shocks waited for him in the cages afterwards.

But even when he lost, he was not cast off.  Was not freed.

They beat him, but never to the point that his skull cracked and his brains glistened through.

He saw that though.  Saw others meet that fate after he’d defeated them.

He didn’t know whether he envied them or not.  They were naught but meat, unfeeling meat. But they were free to run the star-trails.  Free to hunt in the mist-forests.

He knows now.  He did envy them.

No more sticks.  No more shocks. No more blood and thunder.  No more fighting.

And then -- not long ago based on how much he still hurts -- in the middle of a fight in which he was barely holding his own against a younger, stronger, more vicious opponent, the unexpected had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor puppy! It gets better, I promise!


	3. Chapter 3

A dream.  A miracle.

A shrill shrieking wail.

The thunderous shouting that surrounded the circle had changed in an instant.

Panic scented the air.  Fear. Then the stench of anger flooded over him.

His opponent might have been young and fresh, but she was no fool.

They both huddled down against the wooden fence hemming them in.

If they were small enough, perhaps no one would notice them.  No one would come for them. No one would put them back into the cages.

Maybe they could finally escape.

But luck did not smile on them.

Or, perhaps, it did.  They just didn’t know it at the time.

They huddled for what seemed like hours, and then strangers had come.

Long sticks with loops at the ends.

No escape as they had been cornered and looped, and dragged by those loops out of the ring and into more cages.

But these cages were … different. 

These cages were clean.

They smelt a little of fear, but not the overwhelming stench of it like they’d known before.  

There were many cages there, stacked together.  All were full. All of them from that hell hole of a building, every last one that yet breathed, were there.

Then darkness surrounded them again, followed by the bumping, jostling, rattling rumble as they were moved to another place.

That place --  _ this _ place … 

Amazing.

It has cages, to be sure, but they are wide enough to walk around in if one has the energy for it.  They are long enough that a water bowl at the front is too far to reach from the pallet-nest at the back. 

They  _ have _ pallet-nests.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He is still in pain, and they poke at him and prod him, and inject things into him, and sometimes he loses time, and they don’t feed him -- why don’t they feed him? -- but he can’t find it in himself to fight them.

They are not hurting him deliberately; he is fairly certain of that.

He can smell sadness on them, and rage when they examine him every day.

There are soft words to go with the sharp pricks and the slow slides into darkness.

Now, days later he is sure, two of them stand there arguing with the third, and he doesn’t know what to think.

He is afraid. 

They do not want him here anymore.  

They will take him back to the dark place.  To the fighting and the shocks and the stench of fear and pain and death.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay he got out of there! Show your love, click that kudos button or drop a comment to let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

He has lost time again.

The two are not shouting outside the bars.

They are crouched inside.

Leaning against the bars.  Sitting on the concrete.

Saying nothing.  Palms resting on their knees.  

Unthreatening.

He sniffs cautiously.

They had been shouting, but he detects no fear.  No anger.

Nothing but calm.

They are not looking at him.  They look at each other and up at the ceiling and out at the world outside this cage.  But they do not look at him.

The broad one moves, and a delicious smell wafts his way.

It smells like chicken, and fish, and other things he can’t really remember, but, oh, it smells so good. He is drooling onto the pallet-nest, and he doesn’t have the energy to resist that smell.

He is so very hungry.

Getting to his feet is a struggle.  He wobbles a moment, the world spinning around him.

He contemplates lying down again.  Let them come to _him_.

But, the pallet-nest is _his_. He doesn’t want strangers near it.

The world slows its dance around him, and he takes a step towards them.

He does not stumble, nor does he fall.  He feels pride in that pitiful accomplishment.

It smells so, so good.

There is a hand in front of him, palm up, and a small smear of something in the middle.

He looks at it, and sniffs, and he will need to think about this.  

These are strangers and he doesn’t know them and he can’t trust them as he’s no idea what kind of people they are even though there is just _something_ about them that tickles the back of his brain.

A hint, a note, a scent, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t quite as nervous as he thinks he should be.

He is still plenty leery of the pair.  His brain running through the dozens of reasons to have as little contact with them as possible ... but his brain is not guiding his tongue which has flicked out and licked a swath over that palm and ooooooh ...

That _tastes_ so good!

His eyes have closed as he rolls that delectable mash around in his mouth and when he opens them, there is more on that palm, waiting for him.

Maybe it’s poisoned.  Maybe he’s going to die.  But at least he will have had _this_ first, after so very long.

But he doesn’t die.  He gets a little more mash, and still more, and then there are fingers buried in the ruff around his neck  scratching at _that_ spot and oooooh ...

That _feels_ so good!

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, these two humans.  One feeding him the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten while the other seems to find every itchy spot in his disgustingly matted fur.

A voice, a soft voice, interrupts them.  He doesn’t need to look to know it’s the third, the one with whom they were arguing earlier.

Now that he is closer, and the blood is not thundering in his ears, he can hear what they are saying.

“Sirs, are you decided then?”  The third is a female, the placating voice gone, replaced by firm and confident tones.

The first, whose dexterous fingers remain burrowed into his ruff, replies to her query in measured cadence.  Definitely an alpha, this one.

“We are.  We will take him.  We have fostered rescues before; two were fight ring rescues as well.  As I informed your staff earlier, we are more than capable of dealing with any issues that might arise, including nonstandard medical concerns.  We are not without resources. You may check our references if you remain unsure. He isn’t a threat; he simply needs a lot of love. He will certainly receive that with us.  Poor bastard.”

The broad one, the provider of the delicious food, chimes in.

“There are still questions.  Perhaps you can forward the answers to us at a later date? These are the ones most pressing. How long has it been since his last dose?  Is the bloodwork clean now? Were your medical staff able to sort out what they dosed them with? That IV feeding you’ve been doing doesn’t do much more than keep them alive, barely.  He’s obviously very hungry. We’ll be sure to build him up slowly, though. Can’t shock his poor stomach by giving him too much all at once. I assume you would prefer some regime of examinations to ensure his wellbeing?”

The female seems to understand.  They are both alphas. She bows her head to them.

“I will process the paperwork.”

“Please do.  Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are ear scritches and comments are scrumptious yummies!


	5. Chapter 5

The broad one, whose name is Alec, brings the softest blanket he has ever felt and wraps him in it and carries him to a vehicle.

He should be frightened.  He  _ knows _ he should be.

But this Alec is so calm, so sure of himself, so very  _ alpha _ , that he can’t help but surrender. 

He is also exhausted and weak.  And being wrapped up in the lovely scent of the human, and cuddled gently, feels wonderful.  So, so warm.

The other, the first, the slender one, calls himself ‘Q’.  He is, it would appear, a master of wrangling: the paperwork and all the boring details of their claiming him are wrapped up in no time, and then Q is sliding behind the wheel of the vehicle, and for the first time he is able to see outside the moving box -- the car -- and see the world passing by at an initially terrifying speed.

But when nothing happens to him, and the two remain calm and unconcerned, he relaxes as well.

Melts into Alec’s arms and lap, more like.  So strong, and so tender.

Q looks over, a soft expression on his face.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.  No one has  _ ever _ looked at him like that.

Alec looks at him too, though.  And  _ his _ expression is similar to Q’s.

He doesn’t know how long they move in the vehicle, the car.  He dozes off at some point, worn out by everything.

He awakes to the cessation of motion, of noise.  The slender human, the Q-alpha, has stopped the car and is carefully untangling the broad human, the Alec-alpha, from the strap across his chest.

Q gets out of the car and comes around to open the door beside Alec.

Alec manages to unfold himself and get out of the car without dislodging him from his nest of blankets.  He isn’t sure how the man manages it, but he’s not being forced to move, so he doesn’t complain.

They carry him into a stone building, two storeys, and Q bends to untie the boots Alec wears and helps him to slip out of them.

There is a short hall, and then they turn.  He sees a kitchen, wood floors, table, chairs, and thick rugs everywhere, and so, so warm.  He’s never felt such warmth before, not since sleeping in the midst of the puppy pile of his littermates.  A lifetime ago.

They pass through the kitchen and down another corridor, and then into an echoey room.  Cool tile on the walls, and warm water gushing from a pipe. Q rolls up his sleeves and then his trouser legs.  And then rolls up Alec’s trouser legs as well.

Alec crouches and finally sets him down on the smooth ceramic.

He has no chance to feel the chill though.  Warm water is gently sprayed over his back, his hind quarters, and his chest.  Alec holds his head when he would have flinched away from the spray, and then a strange-smelling cream is worked into his fur.

The delightfully warm water is sprayed over him again, washing away dirt and blood.  Matted fur loosens. 

Q repeats the washing two more times, carefully sponging at his face while Alec holds him in place.

It should terrify him, but he’s too exhausted and it feels too good for him to muster the energy for much more than little flinches and shivers when the two move just a little too quickly and startle him.

He is dozing on his feet when they towel him dry.  Enormous fluffy towels. The nest-den they would make would be divine!

They are gentle with the towels and once he is mostly dry, coax him back out of the room and down the corridor again.

He misses being carried, being cuddled against that solid muscle, but he is clean, and warm, and dry, and he will try to please the alphas who gave him that.

Back in the kitchen, they lead him to the thickest rug, right in front of an enormous aga.  It is warm there, so deliciously warm.

He curls up on the rug where they put him and dozes again.

Fingers scritching down his back rouse him, and there is a small bowl of broth and rice in front of him.

Once that meger amount is polished off, they lead him off again, this time to a room filled with books and cushions and rugs and sofas and a crackling source of warmth.

They sit together on one of the sofas, so close their bodies press together from shoulder to knee, and Alec reaches down and lifts him onto their laps.

His boney spine presses against their stomachs, limbs and tail tucked in as he curls up.

Gentle hands scratch behind his ears, the base of his tail, stroke down his flanks.

Alec looks at Q and murmurs, “His name is James.”

Q smiles sadly and nods.

James hears the name in  _ that _ voice, from  _ those _ lips, and he shivers.

He remembers.

_ He remembers it all _ .

Trying to save a drowning woman once.

Falling off a bridge.  More than once.

Firing a gun.  More times than he can count.

Driving a car, stealing a car, that this man, Q, had built for him.

He doesn’t know how it happened.

He doesn’t care.

He’s been given another chance to be with the man he loved but never had the courage to pursue.

He’s been given another chance to live with the man he always viewed as a brother.

He’s been given a chance to be part of what he can already see is a beautiful partnership between them.

His mother always said, “If you’re good, when you die you’ll come back as a dog.”

It may have been hard.  It may have been a long road to get here.

But no worse than the road he traveled as a human.

And in the end, worth it.

He uncurls just enough to lift his head and lick a stripe up first Q’s cheek and then Alec’s.

They both smile at him.

Whatever it was he did to deserve this? He is grateful.

He will guard them both with every drop of life in his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! It's done, and James is safe with Alec and Q. Give James -- and me -- some love! He needs all the loves, the kudos, and the comments! <3


End file.
